


between the shadow and the soul

by intoxicatelou



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual Underage Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Flirting, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peter Parker is 16, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Praise Kink, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/pseuds/intoxicatelou
Summary: “Sorry, kid.” Tony continues, because he can hear rustling on the other end, and it’s too easy to imagine Peter’s fingers trailing down his body, rubbing at himself through those worn boxers with his mask on them. Too easy to imagine the kid’s blush as Tony says, his voice dipping lower, “But that was a hell of a picture.”“You liked it.” Peter breathes, and it isn’t a question as much as it is a revelation.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 326
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mere_Mortifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/gifts).



> Set Pre-Homecoming & Post-Civil War.
> 
> *re-dated for reveals, sorry if you've already seen this!*

> **I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
>  in secret, between the shadow and the soul **
> 
> — Pablo Neruda,[ Sonnet XVII](https://snippetandink.com/ceremony-reading-sonnet-xvii-poem-pablo-neruda/)

+

It starts as a mistake. A miracle. A misinterpretation. 

Tony’s a little drunk. Like half a bottle of expensive scotch little. Which is bad, but not _bad_ as long as he doesn’t think too hard about how that’s over a year of sobriety down the drain, but hey, nothing like watching your ex get back with the assassin that murdered your parents to push a man over the deep end. And by watching, Tony’s talking front row seats to his own break up where Steve made it clear that it was always going to be Bucky, despite the months — hell almost the year — he had somehow convinced Tony otherwise.

“FRI, remind me to never date super soldiers?” Tony slurs at his ceiling, his cheek warm against the kitchen countertop. The barely eaten sandwich stares at him aggressively, but his stomach revolts at the idea of inhaling something actually solid. “At least not without extensive background checks on their past lovers.” 

“Noted, boss.” FRIDAY says through the ceiling and Tony sighs. He should go back to the lab. He doesn’t know why he let his AI convince him to try to come up to the penthouse and attempt some semblance of a dinner. FRIDAY should know better, it’s way past dinnertime — late enough that Tony’s grateful that he lives alone in the Tower. 

Except maybe not too grateful, because his loneliness is what led him to the bottle to begin with. 

Stupid Steve and his earnest smile and blue eyes and frankly perfect ass — 

“Sir,” FRIDAY’s voice cuts in, interrupting the image in Tony’s mind. “You have a call incoming from ‘The Spiderling’.” 

“The Spiderling?” Tony mutters, his mind running a little too hazy to connect the name to the face. 

“Peter Parker.” FRIDAY explains and Tony remembers immediately, Queens, serious chemistry skills, stuttering blush, surprising superheroing acumen for a teenager. 

When he’d given the kid his number when he’d dropped him off almost three weeks ago, he hadn’t actually expected him to use it. And so far, Peter had stayed true to Tony’s prediction. This however, was deviating from what Tony had assumed. 

“Patch him through, Fri.” Tony says, waving his hand and pouring another finger or two of scotch into his glass. 

He should probably let the kid go to voicemail, but sue him for indulging in his curiosity as to why the kid’s calling him so late. He’s had a hell of a night, and now that he’s remembering the kid more clearly in his head — Peter’s infectious enthusiasm, terribly adorable taste in movies, and obvious teenage crush on Iron Man — it might be nice to talk to someone like him. He doesn’t know the kid too well, hasn’t had time to do the proper mentorship thing that’s on his list of things to do, but he knows enough to feel that Peter’s a breath of fresh air, more than what Tony typically used to. Young and brilliant with just the right sprinkle of blind faith — in some ways, he reminds Tony so much of his early years before his parents, before Obie. So much untapped, unrealized potential. 

“Sir, it’s 3:24 AM.” FRIDAY says, and if Tony didn’t know better, she sounds almost hesitant. 

“I know how late it is, Fri.” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “I promise I’ll keep it PG 13. I just want to make sure the kid’s okay.” 

FRIDAY doesn’t say anything to that, but Tony hears the familiar ring of the phone before the microphone picks up his voice. 

“Hey champ,” Tony says casually as he swirls his scotch in his glass. 

Tony hears the surprised sound of a breathless gasp. “Holy shit,” Peter curses. 

“You speak to your extremely attractive aunt with that mouth?” 

“Yes? I mean no?” Peter stutters and man, Tony makes a note to remind him that the kid needs to get better at this part of the job. “I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this. Hi, Mr. Stark.” 

“Hi Peter,” Tony responds, doing his best to be kind. 

“I just didn’t think you’d pick up.” Peter repeats, and there’s that awe Tony remembers faintly from their conversation in the backseat of his car. How the kid had gone in for the hug, just instinctually. 

“I didn’t think you’d call at almost half past three,” Tony drawls, taking another sharp sip of scotch and he hears Peter laugh nervously on the other line. 

“Well you know…” Peter says, and Tony can almost picture him biting his lip nervously. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Right. That makes two of us.” 

“This is so stupid. I’m sorry for keeping you up.” 

“You aren’t, kid.” 

“But you’re like, _Tony Stark_ , and it’s three am and —” 

“It’s fine, kid,” Tony says, interrupting because the way Peter had emphasized his name, the absurd astonishment of the situation, it felt good. Sickeningly so, because well. He’s a kid. Barely fifteen, or something. 

“Is it, really?” Peter asks, still nervous. 

“Really,” Tony repeats, and he isn’t serious about this, isn’t as depraved as the media would like him to believe, but he can’t stop the drunken thought from pooling in his mind. It’s a split second decision to indulge for a moment, over-exaggeratedly asking in a low, corny voice, “So Peter...what are you wearing?

Tony’s ready for the nervous laugh, the immediate hang up, the embarrassed, slightly angry stuttering at the innuendo, a cheap attempt at breaking the ice between them. 

What he isn’t prepared for is Peter’s almost firm response, as if the kid’s been practicing for this exact moment. 

“Not much, Mr. Stark,” Peter responds, straight out of a fantasy, and Tony blinks. 

“Not much?” Tony repeats, bewildered, only sluggishly thinking about what the sentence sounds like in this context. And when he does, it’s a moment too late because Peter’s already rambling away. 

“I mean like, I’m still wearing um. Boxers. And please don’t be mad but they _are_ Iron Man themed but in my defense, I really didn’t think you’d pick up —”

“Are you serious right now?” Tony sputters, choking on his scotch, hoping the incredulity in his statement would make Peter stop, because, he’s too drunk for this, the kid’s a _kid_ for christ’s sake — 

“I know it’s really nerdy of me, but I actually am,” Peter cuts in, a little indignant and this is _not_ the conversation Tony wants to be having. In fact, he doesn’t even want to be having a conversation. He should hang up. He should —

“But um. If you need proof… you can check your texts.” Peter adds, a little too breathless for Tony’s sanity and before Tony can press pause and laugh off this whole thing, it’s too late. He hears the whoosh tone of an incoming text and FRIDAY pulls up the notification immediately. 

_This is wrong,_ Tony’s mind screams somewhere in the background, but he can’t pull his eyes away from the image in front of him. Since when did the universe give teenagers well defined six-packs? The kid’s beautiful, all pale unblemished skin, lean, fit muscle. He can’t see Peter’s face, just the impression of a pink mouth, open, wet, so willing. Tony squeezes his glass as he notices Peter's cock obviously half hard in, as promised, red and gold Iron Man mask patterned boxers. 

It’s not completely explicit, in fact it should be ridiculous considering the kid’s wearing superhero themed boxers, but in reality it’s more than enough to make his own dick twitch traitorously in his pants. Tony’s always liked them lithe and youthful, some picture of innocence, everything he isn’t really, but this isn’t his porn history. Peter’s real, alive, breathing on the other line, his voice a little quiet as he asks in the deafening silence, “Mr. Stark?” 

Tony puts his palms against his eyes until he sees stars, mutters out weakly. “Sorry kid, It’s just...I was joking about the what are you wearing bit because you’re fifteen —”

“I’m sixteen, Mr. Stark. Like, sixteen and three days” Peter cuts in, and Tony notices the slight wobble in his voice. 

“Oh. Happy belated birthday?” Tony says, blinking as he pulls his hands away from his eyes. _Sixteen, okay that’s...better. Better than fifteen. But still, bad. This is bad, Tony,_ he reminds himself sharply. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t being serious, it was a cheap joke, and kid, I’m flattered really but you know why this is a bad idea.” 

“Oh…” Peter starts, sounding borderline hysterical. Tony knows regret when he hears it. He waits for the hammer to fall, for the kid to revoke his trusty adult card. Not that Tony needs him to, he’s revoked that card for himself by now. It’s past three am and he’s too drunk to drive, and definitely too drunk to talk to a stupidly attractive teenager— 

“Did I just come onto you?” Peter says, interrupting Tony’s mental self flagellation. 

“Kid, I started the conversation —”

“But I called you first. And then sent the photo, oh God —”

“Peter, it’s not your fault.” Tony says, incredulous. 

“I just _came onto_ Tony Stark —”

“Technically, you haven’t come at all.” Tony mutters, accidental, against his better judgement. It’s just the way the kid had overemphasized the words again, as if he isn’t half-aware of what he sounds like right now, on the other line, with a body like that and Tony is waiting for the guilt to outweigh the image still stuck in his mind, waiting for something other than the hitch in Peter’s breath on the other line. 

“Sorry, kid.” Tony continues, because he can hear rustling on the other end, and it’s too easy to imagine Peter’s fingers trailing down his body, rubbing at himself through those worn boxers with his mask on them. Too easy to imagine the kid’s blush as Tony says, his voice dipping lower, “But that was a hell of a picture.” 

“You liked it.” Peter breathes, and it isn’t a question as much as it is a revelation. 

“Yes, Mr. Parker, I did.” Tony says, finishing off his drink with a flourish. He stands up. If he’s going to have phone sex with a teenager, he might as well head to his room. “You’re gorgeous.” 

“Um. Thank you,” Peter says, almost a little surprised and still so endearingly modest.

“We don’t have to do this.” Tony says, as he steps into his bedroom. “We can leave it just at this.” 

“I want to,” Peter says, quickly. “I really want to. This isn’t — I didn’t think you’d actually pick up. But I’ve dreamt about this.” 

“Jesus, kid.” Tony mutters, pulling his belt loose. He hates how good it makes him feel, Peter’s earnest confession. It's been so long since he's been wanted like that. Even Steve wouldn't give in so easily. They'd fought their way into some semblance of a relationship.

"Really, Mr. Stark. I'm serious," Peter adds, unaware of the guilt swaying underneath Tony's skin. 

“You don’t know what you want,” Tony says, feeling a little sick as he remembers Steve. He pushes those thoughts out of his head. As fucked up as it is, it's better to think about the teenager on the other line instead. About Peter's smile, the sharp, delectable line of his body. 

“Are you.. taking your clothes off?” Peter asks, instead. Deflecting the comment. 

“Yes,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow before he remembers the kid’s senses dialed up to eleven spiel. 

“Oh,” Peter says, and Tony hears some shifting on the other side. “Cool.” 

Tony pauses, before deciding to ask. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes, please.” Peter says, quick enough that Tony finds himself grinning.

“Friday, start recording.” Tony says, as he unbuttons his shirt. 

“We could also just video call, Mr. Stark.” Peter adds, “If you want.” 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks, because sure phone sex is something, but video calling is another. Not that the lines matter, because if they did, Tony would’ve hung up minutes ago. 

“Yes, that’s — It would be good to see you.” Peter stutters out, and Tony kicks off his pants before flopping down on his bed. 

“Fri, switch to video.” Tony says, sitting up against his headboard. His fingers itch for another drink, but he forces himself to relax as the line connects and he’s staring at the slightly pixelated image of a very shirtless Peter Parker sitting up in his bunk bed. It’s clear the kid’s propped up his phone on some pillows or something, very makeshift. If they do this again, Tony reminds himself to just tell the kid to use the mask. FRIDAY could easily patch through the baby monitor protocol and make it work. 

“Oh god, wow. Um. Hi, Mr. Stark” Peter says, his curls messy and face flushed, looking even prettier than Tony remembers him being. 

“Wow yourself, ” Tony says, raising an eyebrow at the wet patch blooming in front of Peter’s boxers. “Someone’s excited.” 

Peter looks down, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just. Your voice does things to me —”

Tony’s eyes widen. Hell, he knew the kid was sensitive but this is extraordinary. He wonders what that means for Peter’s stamina, if he’ll ever find out. “You’re telling me you haven’t touched yourself yet?” 

“Um. No” Peter swallows, before his eyes meet Tony’s through the camera. “You didn’t tell me I could?” 

Jesus, it’s like the kid’s made to please. Tony palms himself through his own boxers, watching as how Peter’s eyes track the movement. 

“Peter,” Tony says, and the kid’s eyes snap back up to Tony’s face. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d say the kid’s positively drooling for it. 

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” 

“Two things,” Tony says, continuing to touch himself through the fabric of his boxers. He’s not quite hard, but given the visual in front of him, it won’t take long. Especially given the data on how good Peter is at following instructions. Tony’s always liked a certain level of control, but Peter takes that interest to a whole other level. “First, if we’re doing this, you might as well call me Tony.” 

“Tony,” Peter nods, testing out the name. “Got it.” 

“Secondly,” Tony says, drawing out the word as he slips his fingers past the band of his boxers, fisting his dick. Peter bites his lip and Tony watches his fingers twitch against his thigh. They’ve barely started and the kid’s already desperate for it. “Take off your boxers and then you can touch yourself, Peter.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, in one exhaled breath, before pushing down his boxers. His hard cock is wet where it curves against his stomach and Tony almost wishes the kid was here, right next to him, so he could lean over and taste. 

“Beautiful,” Tony praises, watching Peter shudder, another drop of precome sliding down his shaft. “Do you like it when I praise you?” 

“Yes,” Peter says, his hand moving over himself in such force if the kid wasn’t a superhero, Tony might be a little worried. 

“Can you get on your knees for me, Peter?” Tony says, sliding out of his own boxers. 

Peter barely nods before he’s spreading his knees wide, hand still around his cock. It's just as good as a visual as Tony had predicted it to be.

“Wow,” Peter says as he takes in Tony’s cock, his hands moving faster. 

“Like what you see?” Tony says, grinning as he touches himself. 

“Obviously,” Peter says, and Tony likes the sass in this kid. 

“I do too,” Tony says, “You’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” 

Peter whimpers, and Tony watches as his stomach flexes, correcting himself. _Breathtaking_ doesn't even begin to encapsulate the sight in front of him. If the kid’s this weak at the sound of his voice, he can only imagine how responsive he will be once Tony gets his actual mouth on him. 

“Don’t tell me, you’re close already.” Tony says, his own hand speeding up to match Peter. He doubts he’ll beat the kid though, given the hair trigger sensitivities of a sixteen year olds. 

“I am,” Peter says, blushing again. His skin is flush with a slight sheen of sweat and Tony wants to pull his hair and bite his throat, wants to test just how long a mark lasts. “God, it’s just. It’s _you._ ” 

“ _Peter,_ ” Tony says, his voice breaking because he likes it. Likes the clawing need Peter has for him, how fucked up someone is just from the sound of his voice, the power trip, the trust. “Come for me, come on, sweetheart. I want to see you lose it.”

Tony squeezes his own cock as he watches Peter come, his back arching as he moans _Tony_ because he’s good enough to remember things Tony asks of him. The image can only be described as something sinful. Beautiful but wrong. And yet, Tony can’t feel anything outside of the desperate thrum of his own heart, the blood rushing in his ears. He hasn’t even come yet, but he feels the adrenaline, the raw jerk of desire. At the start of this, he wanted to believe this was a one time deal, that it won’t happen again, but looking at the boy in front of him, Tony knows he’s crossed into the deep end. That this is just the first line of many. 

He hasn't even kissed him, and Tony knows he's hooked. 

He watches Peter’s eyes blink open, glassy with post-orgasmic bliss, his cock somehow still hard even though he just came. “Wow, wow. Wow.” He repeats, leaning forward towards the camera. 

“You did so good, Peter.” Tony praises, genuine even with his own cock still hard against his stomach. 

“But you didn’t come.” Peter says, frowning a little. 

“And you’re still hard.” Tony says, sitting up and grabbing his phone from his bedside table. “Tell me, kid. Is your aunt home right now?” 

“Um, No. She works nights,” Peter says, tilting his head. 

“Great,” Tony says, tapping the screen one more time before putting his phone down. “You might want to put some pants on. A car will be there in eleven minutes.” 

“A car?” Peter’s eyes widen. 

“I’d like to finish this in person. Wouldn’t you?” Tony says, and he doesn’t have to wait long to hear Peter’s answer. 

“Yes, please.” Peter says, in that sweet, eager voice. 

“Good boy,” Tony says, and Peter's eyes flutter, his cock twitching against his stomach. 

"Sorry," Peter says, embarrassed and Tony shakes his head. 

"Don't be." Tony says. They're way past apologies anyway, even though it hasn’t even been an hour yet. Not that Tony needs time to tell him what he already has inkling about: when it comes to the kid in front of him, there isn’t much he won’t do for him. This might not be his greatest idea, but it definitely isn't the worst. Not when he's staring at those eyes, so willing to please. 


End file.
